When the 5km limit was announced, I looked up the distance from my house to Mullaghreelan Woods – 4.6km. My daughter and I jumped in the car and headed off.

How blissful it was to feel the soft mulch sink beneath our boots and hear the crack of twigs. The fern fronds were tightly wound, ready to hurtle their seeds later in the summer. Ivy sat like a necklace under the trees, while birds hovered overhead. The scene was utterly familiar, yet seen through fresh eyes.

I sensed we were both scanning the forest to our left to see if the rough board and rope that my children used to swing on was still nestling in a clearing

We barely spoke until we reached the top of the ancient mound, where a view across to Kilkea Castle opens up. This hill top is associated with the Kings of Leinster and the Ó Tuathail (O’Toole) dynasty in particular.

We wound our way back down to the track again and I sensed we were both scanning the forest to our left to see if the rough board and rope that my children used to swing on was still nestling in a clearing. It was gone, probably due to health and safety regulations, but we still had to visit the area.

How hard it must be for her to be corralled in her childhood home once again

I could see my daughter mentally calculate the height and canopy of the old tree, in an effort to reimagine both the fear and exhilaration she used to feel when I would push her tiny self all those years ago. Watching her now on the cusp of womanhood, she holds a different, yet similar anxiety and excitement for what lies ahead.

Last year she was on a J1 in Long Island, working in a busy restaurant and exploring New York. How hard it must be for her to be corralled in her childhood home once again, with no immediate prospect of employment.

As we stand in the hazy sunlight, a sudden flurry of birds breaks the silence. I dared to quote from The Windhover by Gerard Manley Hopkins, just like my father would have:

I caught this morning morning’s minion,

Kingdom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn falcon…

For once, I got a smile instead of the usual eye-roll at mother’s effort to educate her offspring. Emboldened by her receptive manner, I pointed out that in olden times the carpet of bluebells at our feet were seen as symbols of humility and gratitude.

“Right, Mam, enough! Time to go,” she laughed and linked her arm in mine as we strolled to the exit.

It has become our regular sanctuary during COVID-19 and while I wait patiently for this virus to fade away, I can’t but be grateful this summer for her presence – my present.